


A Simple Misunderstanding

by Katarina_Bolton



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Feelings, Hurt, Kinda Fluffy, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, My first fic, Versailles - Freeform, also i am doing my best in here to give a good justification for everything, discovering homoerotic feelings, i really like this pairing and i feel kinda alone with this opinion, trying my best to portray the characters in character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-31 12:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarina_Bolton/pseuds/Katarina_Bolton
Summary: Louis XIV is feeling unwell for a reason which he cannot quite pin point. Alleviation of said distress comes in an unexpected form and Louis struggles to comprehend this.Contains: A lot of internal conflict and apprehension! feat. my abhorent sentence structure, which my english teacher (lovingly?) refers to as "Thomas Mann Sentences", so get ready i guess.





	1. The Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic it's a given that Louis and Philippe look basically identical, this is stated enough, but I just wanna clarify that here one more time. I had seen some sources claiming that in actual history, it had been as such, so I ran with that. Of course Alexander Vlahos and George Blagden don't look much alike, i am aware lol.
> 
> (please do go ahead and tell me what you think, since this is the first work of mine which I upload anywhere, actually!)

The king, Louis XIV, Le Roi Soleil, and his brother were mirror images of one another, only a few years apart, having grown up close to each other, despite their differences, one might mistake them for twins.  
Hence why the accident occurred, and why the king was now in turmoil with himself, rolling from one side to the other, trying to escape the conflicting thoughts in sleep. 

It had been a social gathering of the finest variety, very boisterous and loud. Spirits were high all around as everyone at court had thrown on their best dresses and laid on their makeup with an even more extravagant edge that night. Naturally, Louis had addressed the crowd, before festivities actually begun, said a few things about the quality of life at Versailles, praising the new imports from the Americas, all the while underlining the importance of France's political involvement there and in the entire world, the usual stick really.  
After that he had made himself unusually rare, disappearing for a while to change into something else and once having returned, not being involved in the dancing or socializing much at all. Philippe, had acted not too dissimilar to his brother, despite usually being quite involved in any debauchery taking place, he had felt somewhat unwell and had expressed as much to his lover, the Chevalier de Lorraine, as they had spoken prior to attending the event. Further details remained omitted, if there were any at all, for feelings were sometimes fleeting and inexplicable, so that there was no deeper reasoning there to be shared, even if the desire to do so was a given.  
In any case, whatever it had been that put a damper on Philippe's mood vanished over the course of the evening. The well mannered pleasantries diminished with every gulp of alcohol consumed by the guests as a collective, and the lighthearted depravity grew more rampant. Philippe was enjoying himself, mingling with the nobles, notably not being seen with the Chevalier that evening. On the other hand it was not unusual for the king and his entourage to leave before this point, retiring to more private rooms for intimate talks, or card games. This night however, Louis found himself amongst the crowd, feeling like a ghost passing through them, like he was not really there, like what was happening around him was not able to reach him.  
This feeling had been persistent for days at that point, going so far that he refused advances from Madame de Montespan multiple times. She was growing quite agitated due to this and had taken to avoiding the king for that evening at least. Without a goal, Louis' feet led him into a more secluded area, where the light was lower, the music softer and the people absent. The space was barely separated from the gathering, by a semi transparent curtain, which was draped loosely as such that it served as the divider for the two areas. Within it there stood a table, adorned with leftovers of macaroons and chocolates on pretty silver and gold plates, a few seats, covered in velvet fabric and plenty of decorative items, as it was the case in every corner of the palace. Louis leaned against the headrest of a canape, feeling tired and being suddenly overcome with a bout of dizziness, hoping to alleviate his lightheadedness if he rested a bit.  
He heard the footsteps approaching from behind him, but thought nothing of it, only turning his head vaguely in their direction once he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He could barely catch the Chevalier de Lorraine's eye before he had pushed Louis' black curls behind his ear, brought his other hand up to take a tender hold of his face and placed Louis' lips upon his own. 'Mignonette' he had whispered just before. The kiss went unreciprocated and the Chevalier pulled away all too soon, looking into the eyes of whom he clearly believed to be his beloved, before drawing him close to himself effortlessly. His lips close to his ear, he spoke to him in a kind whisper:  
“I am sorry, I know you feel unwell, please do confide in me, my love.”  
Hurriedly Louis hushed “I have to go.” and turned away from his brother's lover, unwrapped himself from his arms, easily, since the Chevalier was relenting, and dove through the curtains back into the crowd, wherein he disappeared. His head was flushed, he stumbled ever so slightly, it had caught him off guard. He went straight into his chambers, making sure to dismiss everyone who'd try to approach him, or help him get dressed for bed.

It had been hours already, in which Louis tried to force himself to stop thinking, and just sink into sleep, but to no avail. He caught himself replaying the events of the night over and over again. Somehow, what could have been a simple misunderstanding, which should have been resolved then and there by informing the Chevalier up front about his mistake, turned into a personal haunting, plaguing Louis' mind with questions he felt unable to face. Why hadn't he simply told the Chevalier that he was in fact not Philippe? Was it because he feared what he might think about him, because he did not stop him as soon as he'd approached? And why hadn't he? Was there really no time to intervene, to push him away? Was his reaction time really impaired, to such a degree, due to his dizziness? Or was there something that made him want the Chevalier to finish what he had started doing?  
That was a prospect that Louis tried to push away as vehemently as he could. There was no way that anything the Chevalier offered was worth more than that which his mistresses provided, and additionally, no way he would ever seek out whatever it was, from a person who was not only male, but also the lover of his brother. But it was undeniable, that in that brief instance of intimacy, he had felt good. Not better than he had ever felt in his life, but certainly better than he had felt in a few weeks or so and that was enough to leave him restless and contemplative.  
He rolled over onto his right side and pulled his legs closer to himself, making the empty space of the giant bed, in which he slept most nights, seem even more grand, and himself, in contrast, seem even more small. There was an ache in his chest, begging to convince him to leave his inhibitions behind himself, abandon his faux morality, and just seek out the Chevalier again. The ache grew into a voice that told him, what he had heard since he was five, that he was the sun around whom everyone and everything orbits, basking in his light, able to exist and thrive merely due to his benevolence and that, for this very reason, what he wanted was his to take, under any and all circumstances.  
Louis struggled with himself, with his decision. It would have been most simple to let the incident become forgotten, as it was only him who knew the significance of it, or that it happened, as it did, at all. All he would have to do would be to subdue the urge to seek out that feeling again and neither the Chevalier nor Philippe would ever find out about any of it. That was the simple solution, and clearly the right one, but whenever he came close to concluding he would act as such, the pain flared up again and he got back into arguing with himself. Thinking how he could manage to fulfill his desires without defying god, without hurting his brother and without losing himself. Yet he didn't quite grasp what that desire truly was, nor did he find a way to achieve this goal in such a manner. All he managed to do was decide it must be done as such, for his own sake, that he poses as his brother again at the next convenience, in order to trick the Chevalier into treating him as though he was Philippe. Uncertain was whether or not he would be fooled again, since despite their similarities, it was not fully impossible to tell them apart, their mother always could and so could Henriette, also Louis did not know how long he would keep up the act, how far he would allow things to progress before putting a stop to it (not to mention how to even do that), he felt awfully amoral just pondering it. These thoughts kept him up for the better part of the night, leaving him feeling restless once he was awoken the next day.


	2. The Deception

Sitting in his brother's room, on the edge of his bed, gazing around his belongings, all the while dressed head to toe in his clothing, Louis felt anxious. Earlier he had made sure one of his ministers would send Philippe away on a trip that would take at least a day to complete, so that there was no chance of him walking in on the twisted game of pretend that he was about to play. Still there were factors that were unaccountable, no matter Louis' consciousness of them. Perhaps Philippe might decide to abandon his journey, due to some reason or another, and return early and unexpected. Perhaps the Chevalier had heard of Philippe's leaving, despite the orders to make his departure hasty as to avoid that specifically, being clear, and once he entered the jig would be up instantly, resulting in embarrassment and dissatisfaction. Or perhaps the Chevalier would not show at all. After all he had his own bed to retire to, and Louis was certainly not informed enough about the intimate details of his brothers love life to know whether or not the Chevalier came by every night. He didn't want to ponder what the two of them did, especially not now, as it would just make him feel worse and further conflicted, but there was no escaping these thoughts when it was perfectly clear that whatever the Chevalier would say or do to him, would be exactly how he would treat his brother. His stomach felt like it was twisting into knots, the longer he sat there, the worse the sensation grew, no matter how much he fidgeted with his hands or pushed and pulled his clothing into place, he was remarkably nervous.   
Every once in a while the thought of leaving popped into his head. That yet, he had not committed any sin yet, that he could walk away unscathed if he chose to do so, but whenever he came close to acting on that notion, he was pulled back into place, needing to see what would happen, needing to feel what he felt the other night, needing to not have wasted all that effort to make it possible.

“You won't believe what Madame de Clement was saying in the salon tonight!”  
The Chevalier barged into the room with such brashness it startled Louis. Suddenly a wave of fear swept over him. Maybe things wouldn't be like the other night at all, maybe he would appear to him as he had prior. Too loud, too flamboyant and too ill mannered. He got up quickly, too quickly in fact, the blood rushed into his legs too quickly, making him feel faint, and once he took but a few steps, he felt the arms of the Chevalier around him, keeping him from tumbling over.   
“Ma chérie, you look as though you've seen a ghost.”  
His voice softened as the two made eye contact. Louis had taken off his shoes a while ago, finding Philippe might have slightly smaller feet, or just own less comfortable shoes. Either way he figured it better to rid himself of the painful accessory, but now he was noticeably shorter than the Chevalier, having to look up to meet his gaze.   
“Wait dear, sit down.”  
He helped him sit back down on the bed before hurriedly fetching a glass of water from across the room.  
“You should drink something, that might help you feel better.”  
He held the glass up to Louis' lips, who in turn took it out of his hand to drink the water in a few gulps. Once empty, the glass traded hands again and was swiftly put away. The Chevalier kneeled down before whom he thought to be Philippe, earnestly worried about him, seeing as he looked paler and his eyes seemed bloodshot, as though he had been crying.   
When Louis lifted his head to face him he felt tense. The sun had set a while ago, but the room was well lit and he felt exposed, as though his disguise was only worth while with the aid of smoke and mirrors which had now been stripped away. He feared that any moment now, the Chevalier would recognize him and react with disgust. But as he trembled the Chevalier looked into his eyes with nothing but adoration, studied the features of his beloved's face and found no fault about it, he seemed almost lost in it, the gentle beauty of who sat before him.  
“Are you feeling any better?”  
He asked, not having yet heard a word from his distressed darling, which usually connoted only bad things to come.   
“I feel fine.”  
Louis' heart had begun beating at a rate that was without a doubt alarming, until it halted it's hammering, in a moment of anxious anticipation, for the Chevalier's reaction. His voice, or the way he spoke, could certainly be a give away. He had never much pondered whether he sounded like his brother or not, but in that instance he was praying that it was so.  
The Chevalier lowered his gaze and furrowed his brows, before taking a hold of Louis' hands, which had not seized their shaking, despite Louis trying to force them to. He was very gentle as he did so, cradling them as though they were more precious than any treasure within the palace's walls.  
“Philippe, I know that is not true.”  
Louis felt a wave of relief wash over him. The Chevalier still believed him to be Philippe, and he was grateful for it. Yet he couldn't help feeling all the more dirty, as being addressed by the wrong name solidified his act as an intrusion into a privacy that was not meant for him.  
“Mon dieu, you are shaking!”  
The Chevalier exclaimed and squeezed the slender hands which felt so very soft against his own.   
“I can tell when you are feeling unwell, I know you. And I had really hoped you would trust me enough to confide in me, to let me help you.”  
At this point Louis was aching to move away from the Chevalier, but was held in place, not only by his strong grip but additionally by something that was beyond his comprehension, the same thing that had brought him there in the first place, most likely. He knew these words were not meant for him and still they were exactly what he needed. Whenever he had talked to Madame de Montespan about his feeling unwell she seemed only superficially interested and besides that he felt obligated to propagate his role as her protector, making him feel unable to be vulnerable with her. That was difficult with anyone, as he was their king, and they were his subjects. Only now, in this room that wasn't the king's, wearing these clothes that weren't the king's, was he not sitting in front of a subject, a lesser, but rather an equal or, if he allowed it, even a superior. But he was unable to put these feelings into words which wouldn't instantly tell of the trickery at play, so he averted his eyes and remained silent.  
“Mon coeur, just tell me!”  
The Chevalier raised his voice and forced Louis to face him, easily and without any harshness, but with authority in his touch. He let his fingers glide into his opposite's black curls while his thumb rested securely on his temple, making turning away again impossible. He was staring into Louis' eyes with such intensity, he felt as though he might break down if he didn't immediately alleviate the tension somehow.  
“I can't tell you what I don't even know or understand myself.”  
This was enough to make the Chevalier break away from their eye contact, all the while he slowly let his hand sink down from Louis' face and into his lap. The words were true, almost fully even and Louis did not know if they would satisfy his brother's lover, or if they were something Philippe might say, or if they might make him leave, or if any other unforeseen and unwanted consequences could arise from them. 

“Of course... I am sorry.”  
Finally the Chevalier broke the silence. He pressed a soft kiss on Louis' hand before looking back up at him with a softened gaze and a gentle smile, which spoke not of happiness, but rather an understanding sorrow.   
“Meaning no offense, mignonette, melancholy suits you, as does everything of course. You look radiant. I cannot help falling in love with you more every day.”  
Louis felt his face flush, upon which the Chevalier smiled a little wider.   
“That shade of pink looks beautiful on you, I didn't know you cared for my compliments anymore.”  
Usually Philippe would retort something snarky, dismiss him completely, or grant him a faint smile, at best. The Chevalier's happiness about this irregularity overwrote any suspicion that could have possibly arisen from it. He caressed Louis' arms gently, moving up to take his coat off in a few swift motions.   
“You do look especially wonderful today, did you change into this after lunch? It is very well put together.”  
“Yes.”  
Louis thought for a moment if he should help the Chevalier out of his own coat, but he had already taken that off himself and went on to rid Louis of his vest and cravat. Again he felt his heart beat quickening. Whenever their eyes met a shiver ran down his spine. The air felt electric.  
“I am the luckiest man in all of France to have you, mon belle prince.”  
He wrapped his arms around Louis' waist, pulling him close, then leaving kisses on his collarbones and finally his neck. Louis hesitantly put his arms around the Chevalier's shoulders, curling his fingers into the fabric of the other's shirt as he felt teeth against his neck.  
With his mistresses he had always forbidden them to leave marks on him, being very firm about this rule, as it would reflect poorly upon the king if he went about with bite marks or hickeys on his neck, but in this unfamiliar position he felt unable to protest against it. Neither did he think of the consequences these marks could carry, not in that moment anyhow.   
Only barely reminiscent of the manner in which events occurred the evening prior, the Chevalier pressed his lips onto those whom he thought belonged to Philippe. This time it felt more passionate to Louis, even more intimate and completely wonderful. This time he reciprocated the kiss, allowing devotion to deepen. In that moment he wasn't thinking about how different it felt from kissing a woman, how this might have been what the women whom he kissed felt when he did so. He wasn't able to think at all. Soon he felt himself being pressed down into the bed, lips still connected, the Chevalier was on top of him, resting some of his weight on him, his knee between his legs, he felt it as his thigh brushed against it, he was held in place. Rather than feeling entrapped, he felt safe. Inexplicably a feeling of comfort washed over him.  
“my dearest, your lips are perfect.”  
The Chevalier hushed as soon as he broke off the kiss, taking joy in the newfound appreciation his compliments received that night. Louis couldn't help reacting to these sweet nothings, biting down on his lower lip sheepishly, barely able to withstand holding eye contact.   
The Chevalier turned his attention back to his neck, sinking his head down to no doubt give the other side a love bite as well, all the while taking both of Louis hands into his own, having their fingers interlock and pushing them down into the bed gently. Louis felt as though he was drowning in his scent, which was then a mingling of his cologne and sweat, but it smelt pleasant to him. As the Chevalier bit down harder, Louis sank his fingernails into his hands and a pitiful little squeal escaped his lips. This clearly bemused the Chevalier who propped himself up so he could hover above Louis directly, smiling down at him.  
“You are so cute today Mignonette.”  
There was a fluttering in his stomach every time the Chevalier pointed out what appeared to be a difference between Louis and Philippe, or how the latter usually acted. It was a mixture of the fear of being found out and the joy of feeling like these words were somehow truly meant for him.  
“I love you.”  
He said as he studied Louis features intently, making him feel completely at his mercy, in the most comforting way possible. It sounded as though he might have wished to hear those same words said back to him, but there was no way Louis could bring himself to do that.   
The Chevalier did not dwell on that however, as he moved on quickly to trail further down with his kisses, gently and slowly, relinquishing his hold on Louis' hands in order to do so.   
“I love you Philippe.”  
He said it between his caresses, his hands trailing the shape of Louis' body. Suddenly realization hit Louis, that it would be only seconds before things would be taken a step further. A step too far. It was like being rudely awoken from a dream, as all the euphoric feelings made way for Louis' disgust with himself. Not only was he lying with a man, but that man was no stranger, that man was his brother's beloved and quite clearly that man cared nothing for him and instead belonged completely and utterly to Philippe. This love that he craved so desperately was not meant for him and he was no better than a common thief for pretending to be someone he was not, just in order to take it.  
He wanted for him to continue so badly, yet at the same time he couldn't stand letting this charade go on for just a second longer. His head was spinning, he felt so confused, so overwhelmed, involuntarily he began tearing up. It wasn't long before the first tear was followed by a hiccuped sob, too loud to go unheard in the silent room and the Chevalier halted everything he was doing instantly.  
His head shot up and he was frozen for an instant, all the while Louis was still attempting to put a stop to the waterworks, but there was no helping it.   
“Mon coeur, what's wrong?”  
The Chevalier reached out his hand towards Louis, who backed away from him, not bearing to have him touch him anymore, for if he felt his tender embrace again, he wasn't sure he could deny him again, and if he allowed that to happen he could surely not live with himself anymore. At this point he was already berating himself for letting things get to this point, he shouldn't have come, he shouldn't have been so weak, so selfish, so terrible.   
“Don't touch me.”  
He ordered, in a shaky voice. The Chevalier didn't know what had caused this sudden change in whom he still believed to be Philippe, but he felt like it must have been his fault somehow and he must find a way to fix it. After all he couldn't stand the pained expression on that beautiful face.   
“I'm sorry, let me help you... please.”  
Again he extended his hand towards him, but Louis moved away until his back hit the headpiece of the bed, thus putting an end to his escape. He pulled his legs closely to himself as he watched the Chevalier climb onto the foot end of the bed cautiously, all the while there were a million different thoughts rushing through his head.  
There was no getting out of this anymore. He couldn't send the Chevalier away left under the impression that he had had this experience with Philippe, since that would no doubt lead to him trying to discuss exactly that with Philippe, who would then inform him that he was in fact many hours away from Versailles at that time and it wouldn't take long at all for both of them to know what really went on. This was the worst that could happen and needed to be avoided at all costs. But alternatively, telling the Chevalier all about the truth was such an incredibly daunting task, Louis was afraid to imagine his reaction. Certainly he would demand an explanation, which in all fairness he was truly owed, but Louis wasn't sure how he could possibly explain why he did what he did. He merely knew he would not be able to justify any of it, neither to himself nor the Chevalier who was, in this game of trickery, the unwitting victim.   
“I know you will not believe this, but I am truly, deeply, sorry for deceiving you. I am not Philippe.”  
Louis fixed his eyes upon the blanket, just in front of the Chevalier, he couldn't look at him, but avoiding the other's expression, forced him to imagine it. Shock at first perhaps, that would fade into disgust and then finally resolve into hatred no doubt. Hatred for his amoral and selfish actions, hatred similar to that which he felt for himself in that instance. It tore him apart picturing it.  
“What are you saying?”  
The Chevalier moved closer, to which Louis responded by curling himself up more tightly, wishing to just disappear into nothingness.  
“I don't think this is a time for joking Mignonette.”  
It was evident that he was not sure if that was all the confession was, a bad attempt at a joke, or if somehow, even though it felt incredibly impossible, it was the truth. When the Chevalier had come close enough to take a hold of his arm, Louis had buried his head behind his knees, which he held hugged tightly to himself.  
“I am not joking, I wouldn't know how to prove it to you now, but I am telling the truth.”  
Louis was trying to win the struggle against the Chevalier, stumbling over his words, while being stripped of his defenses. Before long he felt the Chevalier's hands taking a hold of his face and turning it so he would look at him. His tears were running over his fingers, down the back of his hands, along his arms eventually and Louis lacked the strength to stop it. His grip on the Chevalier's arms felt faint.  
“So, what you are meaning to tell me is that you are the king of France?”  
It was like he was still uncertain whether or not he should believe him. There was no conceivable reason he could think of that Louis would be doing anything of the sort.  
“Yes.”  
It sounded most pained, a whisper that was almost suffocated. The Chevalier was still looking at him, it was disbelief now that painted his face, he studied Louis almost frantically then, perhaps looking for some sign, some tiny detail, that would confirm or deny the claims brought up. His desperation grew visibly as it became clear that even now, when he knew with a fair amount of certainty that the face which he held in his hands, was not that of his beloved, he couldn't find the difference between them.   
He released his hold on Louis slowly, sinking back away from him, then putting his head into his hands and just holding still like that for a moment. Louis let his gaze linger upon the Chevalier for a while, his vision still blurry, he felt as though he had a fever.  
“Can you at least tell me why?”  
He kept his voice low, but the anger and the betrayal that swung in his tone were evident none the less. Louis wiped his tears away, trying to steady himself, to regain some sense of sovereignty, so that he may handle the situation.  
“I am sorry, I don't have an explanation for you. All I can tell you is that I didn't mean to hurt you, even though I know I did, and that I don't want to hurt Philippe.”  
The Chevalier shook his head, but Louis sat up a little straighter, pushing his own hurt aside and focusing on what he needed to do.  
“I think it is clear that no word of what happened tonight will leave this room. You don't have to do it for my sake, but do it for Philippe.”  
He stood up from the bed, not bothering to retrieve the clothes that weren't his to begin with, and while facing away from him, awaited a response from the Chevalier.  
“Of course sire.”  
He spat these words bitterly. Without waiting another second Louis exited the room, leaving the Chevalier behind.

As soon as the door fell shut, the Chevalier let himself sink down into the bed, curling his fists into the sheets, trying to stop the world from spinning around him. It made no sense to him, why Louis would pose as Philippe in order to trick him. Surely he had known the king as a manipulator, an intriguer, but he couldn't imagine what Louis wished to gain from this plot.   
Clearly something had been off about him, there was no denying his distress. It seemed out of character, but then again, he didn't truly presume to know the king's character. Despite the wounds of treachery still burning in his chest, he couldn't help feeling just a little worried for Louis, he had seemed besides himself.  
He moved to lay on his back, to stare blankly at the ceiling. Slowly he brought his hand to his chest. How was it possible that he had looked right into the king's eyes and not known? How could he kiss him and feel just as euphoric as he did when he kissed Philippe? How was it that even now when he was gone and the ruse was up, he was still aching to go seek him out again? How could he still, after Louis had drove the dagger through his back, feel the need to help him?  
He wanted to stop thinking, since every thought about the other brother felt like he was betraying his love and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Still he felt like needed to figure out why all this happened, like he needed to talk to Louis about everything. 

Louis sank against the closed door, he felt faint again and the tears, which he had just managed to control, burst out again. He had done what he needed to, certainly it would have been so much worse had he let things go on uninterrupted, yet he felt terrible anyhow. What he had done was unforgivable, what he had felt was wrong and what he gained from it was inconsequential. He hadn't figured out the cause of his desire, he hadn't satisfied them and he knew that, when he would very soon come to lay with Madame de Montespan again, things would return to normal.  
When he pictured going about usual court business and encountering the Chevalier again, he was unsure how he should handle himself. The secret they shared, he felt he might never be able to stand looking into his eyes again.  
Yet his sorrow stemmed not only from the regret about his actions, equally it was fueled by the knowledge that he would never again receive the comfort which he felt, from to the touches and the gentleness of the Chevalier.   
With a heavy heart and careful steps Louis walked outside, where night had fallen over Versailles and the garden was sparsely illuminated by a lantern here or there. The night was tepid and the sky was clear. Walking by the fountains, taking in the scent of the flowers which were in late bloom, Louis went to sit down upon the grass. The gardens had always been a refuge for him, being there, even at night with no one around, felt cleansing to him. Laying down there without regard for anything else felt like an act of catharsis.  
Later that night he was gathered up by Bontemps and his men and escorted to bed, without telling them of any reason for his late night excursion or the tear stains upon his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading, please do leave a comment telling me what you think, I am so anxious imagining somebody else reading my work, i am not used to this. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed


End file.
